All Things Beautiful
by Mooncombo
Summary: Every movement, every action, every plan. All different. She was different. Hell, he was different now. The events of the previous evening bore further evidence that Ziva was not as “fine” as she pretended to be. TIVA- rated M for later chapters.
1. Pursuit of Happiness

**Disclaimer: I don't own 'em, because if I did there would be a lot more inappropriate stuff happening with our beloved agents.. I hope you enjoy~**

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**All Things Beautiful**

He watched her from the shadows as she began her second lap around the reflecting pool. Dressed in all dark colors, she was difficult to spot as dusk became night. Her pace never wavered as she ran past the front of the monument. The weather was chilly and clear. Winter was beginning to settle on the District forcing Tony to shove his hands in his pockets to keep them warm.

Ziva rounded the corner of the reflecting pooling for the second time and changed direction heading toward the steps of the Lincoln Memorial. Sliding further into the shadows, Tony did not lose sight of her as she ran up the steps finally coming to a stop at the top and looking out over the pool. Her breath made little visible puffs as she panted, her arms stretching up above her head and then to the side. Bending forward at the waist she stretched the backs of her legs.

As her breathing slowed , she stood still and cocked her head to the side as if considering something. Tony could just make out the hint of a smile on her profile as she turned her head and once more stretched her arms, although this time she moved like a dancer. Slipping into a deep arabesque and then twisting quickly into a series of pirouettes, Ziva moved with the grace of a practiced ballerina. She reminded him of a child finding pleasure in the simplicity of doing something just because she had the ability to do so. Coming to a stop still facing away from him, she called out, "Your ninja skills are improving, Tony."

Stepping out of the shadows Tony made his way toward Ziva. Glancing at him over her shoulder, she graced him with soft eyes and a genuine smile. His heart tripped for a moment as he slowly made his way to her side.

"It is beautiful tonight, Tony."

"Yes, Ziva, it is beautiful."

She glanced at him, then quickly looked back out over the pool. They stood in companionable silence for a moment until Tony said, "You changed your route."

"Yes, I did. I needed a change." Her voice rang with a note of finality. He considered letting it go. He considered making a joke and pretending that he had tracked her down for some work related issue. He considered letting her keep her polite distance from him.

"Why, Ziva?"

"Is it really so significant, Tony? Why does it matter? I needed a change." Her smile was no longer soft, but forced.

He considered her question for a moment. The simple change in and of itself was not so significant. What was significant was the fact that _everything_ was now different for Ziva. Every movement, every action, every plan. All different. She was different. Hell, _he_ was different now. The events of the previous evening bore further evidence that Ziva was not as "fine" as she pretended to be.

"Everything has changed, Ziva," He put his hands on her shoulders, forcing her to face him while he pretended not to notice her almost imperceptible flinch at his touch. He continued, "It's different than before. We are not the same people that we were before we ended up in Somalia. It's going to take some time before we can just jump back into be-" his voice trailed off.

He wanted to tell her that he had noticed the change in her. Not only a softer version of her previous self, but a more vulnerable one as well. He wanted to tell her that he no longer saw her a an assassin but has a woman. It didn't matter what he wanted because by sharing his observations, he would hurt her. She would believe that he saw her as something less, something inferior. In reality, he loved her more.

Dropping out from beneath his grip on her shoulders to sit on the top step of the monument, Ziva wrapped her arms around her knees and stared at the glow of the Washington Monument off in the distance. She knew to what he was referring and chose not to acknowledge his reference, but rather attempted to make him understand part of the larger picture.

"I had been here for several years and never even bothered to see any of the Smithsonian museums. I drove or ran past all of the monuments off in the distance, but I never bothered to stop and really see any of them. Then one day I went to the Jefferson Memorial. It was dark, like tonight, but there were clouds in the sky so that the lights of the city reflected off of the sky and caused the entire monument to glow. I went up the steps and read the inscription," she paused for a moment and swallowed.

"_We hold these truths to be self evident: that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their creator with certain inalienable rights, among these are life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness."_

Tony sank down to sit beside her on the steps and felt the cold seep through the seat of his jeans and snake through the rest of his body. A quick glance at Ziva told him that she was not nearly as affected by the cold which seemed odd considering that she had spent a considerable percentage of her lifetime in the desert.

"I do not know why I suddenly felt the urge to play tourist. Maybe it was the experience of being held in a prison camp and somehow not losing my life. Maybe it was the sheer ugliness of that experience that brought about a strong desire to replace that ugliness with something beautiful. Everything beautiful."

The bigger picture was beginning to emerge.

"I read the engraved words of the Declaration of Independence. All men are given the right of the pursuit of happiness. Tony, I've never been given the chance to pursue happiness. My life was mapped out while I was still a child. I have been given a second chance to do things differently. I can be something different."

Tony reached to take her hand, slowly has to not startle her.

"Why did you come here, Tony?"

"You know why, Ziva. Last night-"

She held up her free hand and shook her head, "I thought that I was ready, Tony."

End of conversation. As if it were that simple. As if her disturbing behavior last night was merely the mild fall out of a bad day at the office.

She took a deep breath. He could feel the sadness pulse off of her body. His strong ninja chick was not the same as she was prior. Another lifetime, another world. There was a chink in her armor. He considered for a moment forcing his way through that crack. Forcing her to tell him everything. Everything that had happened to her in Somalia because one thing was becoming alarmingly clear: something had been broken inside of her.

He could not risk the possible consequences of hurting her, so he allowed the façade to remain. He allowed her to keep her mask. For the time being.

"What other beautiful things, Ziva? What else replaces the ugliness?

She looked at him. Studied him. A ghost of a smile played at the corners of her mouth. She jumped to her feet.

"Do you have plans tomorrow night, Tony?"

Reaching down to grasped his hand and tugged him to his feet.

"St. Matthews. Eight O'clock. Be there."

She gifted him with a genuine smile this time and bounced in place to warm up her cooling muscles.

"Do not be late," She warned as she bounded down the steps to finish her run.

Tony stared after Ziva. Time. It would take time for things to feel normal again. And maybe normal was not ever going to be in the cards for them. But he could hope for a little happiness, not only for her but also for himself.

Slowly climbing down the steps he shook his head. Despite everything that happened in Somalia, she was still the strongest person he knew. Maybe she was even stronger than her former self because every day more of her humanity shone through.

TBC.

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A/N: I promise to explain what happened "last night". Reviews welcome and most appreciated!!


	2. Et vitam venturi saeculi

Disclaimer: Not mine

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Tonight colder than the previous. Tony stood outside the giant heavy doors of the cathedral stamping his feet in an attempt to keep them from freezing. He watched enviously as a lone gentleman grabbed the iron handle and let himself into the warmth of the church. Where was Ziva?

Come to think of it, why did Ziva want to meet him at St. Matthew's? It was an odd choice for his Jewish ninja. Finally, Tony decided that Ziva could find him inside when she finally decided to arrive. Otherwise, she might find him as a frozen block of ice on the stone steps.

Once inside, Tony let his eyes adjust to the dim light. The interior of the old building was beautiful. A group of people were assembled at the front of the church, along with another small group seated in chairs with an assortment of string instruments. Ziva spotted Tony from her position in front of the alter and gave him a slight wave, then motioned for him to sit.

Tony chose a pew in the middle and sat down, fascinated by the scene before him. Judging by the lack of audience save for a few scattered people, he determined that he was not here to watch a concert but a rehearsal. An small group of about twenty singers assembled and began a series of scales and various vocal warm-ups; Ziva among them.

He let the music float around him, through him, as he absorbed the beautiful notes and tried to imagine this experience through Ziva's senses. How did he not know that Ziva could sing? As the choir made their way back down the scale, the higher notes continued to resonate through the building. Tony sat wide eyed, surprised not only at the sheer beauty of the music, but that he actually enjoyed it.

The choir director gave some sort of instruction and the group rifled through their music folders to grab the appropriate piece of music. Tony watched, mesmerized not only by the music, but by Ziva. Maintaining a hint a smile while she sang, she looked happy. Innocent. His gut twisted . He knew she wasn't innocent. Neither of them were innocent.

_Credo in unum Deum, Patrem omnipotentem, factorem coeli et terrae, visibilium omnium, et invisibilium._

The music had changed into something more powerful. Almost angry. Tony could not take his eyes off of Ziva. She was utterly beautiful in a way that grabbed a hold of him and wouldn't let go. His ninja was singing a Catholic mass in a Catholic Church. The absurdity of this situation almost caused him to laugh. Almost. Until he remembered Ziva's quest to replace the ugliness with all things beautiful.

_Deum de Deo, lumen de lumine, Deum verum de Deo vero._

She had come to him two nights ago. It was not the first time he had found her on his door step in the middle of the night. Nor could he deny that he had found himself on occasion in her apartment in the middle of the night.

_Genitum, non factum, consubstantialem Patri, per quem omnia facta sunt. _

The first time had been a surprise to Tony. A grueling case. Long hours. Too much tequila. An easy excuse. She had arrived unannounced. Pushed her way past him in the doorway, grabbed his hand and dragged him to his bedroom. It was not discussed - before or after.

_Qui propter nos homines, et propter nostram salutem descendit de caelis._

The second time it was Tony that had gone to Ziva. She had welcomed him with open arms. Soothed his hurt, took away his pain if only for a brief moment. And of course, asked no questions.

_Et incarnatus est de Spiritu Sancto ex Maria Virgine. Et homo factus est._

And then Jenny died and everything was a blur for days. Everything except Ziva. Once again, she had accepted him without question, without his promise for something more. She held him in the night and cradled his body with her own. She gave him the freedom to lead the way, let him have the power when they were alone because she knew that he felt utterly powerless in the wake and aftermath of Jenny's death.

_Crucifixus etiam pro nobis sub Pontio Pilato, passus, et sepultus est._

With an increasing frequency, they had found themselves turning to each other. Once they had trespassed over rule 12, they had not looked back. Not because they had some great love affair, but simply because only they were capable of comforting each other. Only they knew the private hell that the other suffered and so they suffered together.

_Et resurrexit tertia die, secundum Scripturas. Et ascendit in caelum, sedet ad dexteram Patris._

He had not known how much he loved her then. He had been blind. They both had been blind. His gut twisted again as his mind replayed for him the anguish on Ziva's face and in her voice when she confronted him in Tel Aviv. She had blamed him for Michael's death. Even as the words tumbled out of his mouth asking her if she had loved Rivkin, he knew in that moment that it was he who loved Ziva. That it was too little too late.

_Et interum venturus est cum gloria, judicare vivos et mortuos, cujus regni non erit finis._

Everything was different now. There was a time that Ziva would use her body to force Tony to back down. Invading his personal space, she would bully him into doing her bidding. She would distract him with blatant innuendo. She had always been overly confident in her power not only as a woman, but as a female assassin.

_Et in Spiritum Sanctum Dominum, et vivificantem, qui ex Patre Filioque procedit._

For the first time since he met Ziva, Tony was unsure how to treat her, handle her. For the first time since he had met her, she needed him to be the strong one.

_Qui cum Patre, et Filio simul adoratur et conglorificatur, qui locutus est per Prophetas._

Sometimes when he looked at her he saw remnants of the blank haunted look she wore for the first 24 hours after they had rescued her from Somalia. Sometimes he saw her dirty, bloody face resigned to the fact that she would die in that hole. And sometimes, when she dropped her defenses and met his stare she let him see all the way through to her soul. Those were the moments when he recognized that they were bonded in a way that can only be brought about through shared suffering.

_Et vitam venturi saeculi._

And so it was that Ziva found herself at his door at one in the morning two nights ago.

_Et vitam venturi saeculi. Amen._

_Amen._

TBC.

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A/N: Ok, I know it seems totally bizarre to have Ziva singing in a Catholic Church and I promise to explain how that came to be later. When I was in college, I sang with a choir that was invited to sing at St. Matthew's and it was an amazing experience. The piece we sang was Vivaldi but the piece in this story is Schubert's Mass in G Movement III which is the Credo. If anyone is interested in hearing it, go to Youtube and search for Schubert Mass in G Credo.


	3. Benedictus

**Thanks to everyone for the wonderful feedback. I have probably listened to the Schubert Mass in G Credo and Benedictus 100 times to get the flow of the story right, even if it's just in my own head. **

**Disclaimer: I can't afford them, so they do not belong to me.**

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**Taking a deep breath, she stepped forward from the rest of the choir along with a tenor and a bass. She spared a glance at Tony , the barest hint of a smile gracing the corners of her mouth before she settled all of her attention on the conductor. Raising both arms, he paused before giving the intro cue to the orchestra followed by a cue to Ziva to begin the soprano solo of the **_**Benedictus**_**.**

**She allowed her lungs to fill with air. Time seemed to stand still as she released her breath and the crystal clear notes of the movement swirled around her. Her voice resonated throughout the building as she hit each pitch squarely and precisely. Tony stared at her in awe. **

_**Benedictus qui venit.**_

**She lost herself in a moment of beauty and light. The crystal clear notes , the strumming of the instruments, the glow of the candles. A memory of long ago. A lifetime ago.**

_**Benedictus qui venit in nomine Domini.**_

**She had studied classical music as a young adult. A beacon of light in Ziva's young life. Allowed by her father only because it added to her repertoire of abilities. Another breath, another note.**

_**Benedictus, Benedictus.**_

**The tenor and the bass soloists joined in and Ziva's solo become a trio, their voices slipping and sliding over each other in an intricate dance of sound. Ziva was playing the role of a classical vocalist, her fellow singers part of her life's cast. Only this time the role was not a disguise but a trial of sorts. A trial of what her life could become. Of what she would leave behind.**

_**Benedictus qui venit in nomine Domini.**_

**The soloists rejoined the choir once their part had finished. A giddy thrill spilled through Ziva as she took her place on the risers. Joy brought about by something beautiful. Something she could not quite articulate. **

**A dark smoky bar in Morocco had been the last venue in which she had performed for an audience. Since returning from Somalia, she found herself unable to sit still for any length time. At first she fell back on old habits. She ran, she worked out, she trained as hard as her weakened body would permit. She forced herself to keep moving until her body objected and she finally collapsed, exhausted, only to wake up and repeat the pattern the next day.**

**Bombarding her own senses in an attempt to dull what she perceived as a hyper sensitivity of sorts, she carried an iPod or a book everywhere. It was her newly acquired attention deficit that had originally brought her to St. Matthew's. She had been out for a run and found herself standing in front of the stone steps. It was early fall and the weather had been unseasonably warm that evening . The heavy wooden doors had been propped open and the sweet sound of music and voices had spilled into the air. Unable to stifle her curiosity, she had climbed up the steps and peered through the doorway.**

_**Hosanna in excelsis.**_

**She had slipped into a pew near the rear of the church and watched a small but rather talented choir run through the first few sections of the Haydn Nelson Mass. After the rehearsal was over, she made her way toward the front of the building and asked the choir's director if he was accepting new recruits.**

"_**New recruits?" he had laughed, "you must be military."**_

"_**NCIS," she immediately answered and then added, "I think."**_

_**He had looked her over curiously, but wisely chose not to ask her to elaborate. Instead , he gave her his card and asked her to call him to properly audition.**_

"_**I am not Catholic. Will that be a problem?"**_

_**He had smiled at her. "We tend to perform here often but we are not affiliated with the Catholic church."**_

"_**But you are singing a mass." He laughed again and gave her a soft smile with kind eyes that vaguely reminded her of Gibbs.**_

"_**Lots of choirs sing masses," he had explained, "most of the great composers have written several."**_

**Another trio of soloists had begun the final movement. Ziva remained with the rest of the choir as they finished the section. **

_**Agnus Dei.**_

**She spied Tony watching her intently, a look on his face that squeezed her heart. She faltered for a moment, her voice fading to nothing as the unwelcome recollection of her utter melt down the other night invaded her mind. Humiliation washed over her, as her unrelenting photographic memory provided her with scene upon scene.**

_**qui tolis peccata mundi**_

**Swallowing, she caught his eye and forced herself to hold his gaze while the melody once again surrounded her, enveloped her. Protected her.**

_**miserere nobis….miserere nobis.**_

**The music had stopped and the singers were making their way down the risers. Ziva held Tony's gaze a moment longer before following. She gathered together her music, carefully filed the pieces into her black music folder and slid it into her khaki messenger bag. She paused as the director called out a few last minute notes and reminders and then made her way to join Tony.**

**Sliding onto the hard wood of the pew beside him, she held his eye. This was new for them. Since their tentative reconciliation in the bathroom, it seemed as though they had developed a sort of private escape within each other. It was becoming more and more blatant. McGee wisely chose to keep his opinion to himself. Abby secretly reveled in what she assumed what a budding love affair. And Gibbs- well Gibbs was choosing to ignore it. For now.**

**He reached up and gently brushed her cheek with his fingers. The movement was so soft, so tender, so **_**loving**_** that Ziva swallowed back the lump that began to form in the back of her throat. **

"**So I'm thinking that was a little bit Sister Act, Ziva, although you are way hotter than Whoopi. Ooh wait - I'm getting a better picture. It's a little Chicago and you are Catherine Zeta Jones." He looked her up and down wolfishly.**

**And just like that the intensity of what was developing between them evaporated.**

"**Tony, how is a Schubert Mass anything like Chicago?" She teased back. **

"**Well, I guess it's not really anything like Chicago except that you could totally pull off that bad ass role and wear that bad ass outfit she wears and well, Ziva, now that I know that you can sing," he sighed to himself, "well, now my fantasy is complete."**

**He leaned back, content with the brain candy he has just created for himself.**

"**Tony!" Ziva hissed, "we are in a church for God's sake, a **_**Catholic**_** church!" Then she realized she had just taken the Lord's name in vain and giggles.**

"**We better get out of here before we get ourselves in trouble," Ziva whispered, laughter in her voice.**

**They gathered their things and made their way outside. Not ready to call it a night, Tony convinced Ziva to grab a drink with him. She readily agreed and they found themselves a few streets down at an Irish pub.**

**Ziva staked out a secluded table nestled into a dark corner in the back of the pub while Tony pushed his way up to the bar to get their first round. Armed with an array of shots, he juggled the miniature glasses and presented them to Ziva. **

**They made small talk as they downed their first round and then their second. Tony kept a steady flow of liquor flowing through Ziva, who in turn pretended not to notice what he was doing. For awhile.**

"**Are you trying to get me drunk, Tony?" she slurred, although she already knew the answer. Tony did not seem nearly as affected by the alcohol, but of course he did not have anyone providing him a constant source.**

"**Maybe," he answered. **

"**Why?" she whispered back.**

"**You know why, Ziva," he replied, his response so similar to the answer he had given her at the Lincoln Memorial.**

**She nodded in agreement. Why pretend?**

"**So tell me, Ziva, how does a highly trained Mossad assassin become a Catholic school choir girl minus the really hot uniform?" Tony asked trying to ease her into the conversation ahead. Of course, this was Ziva and she did not require kid gloves. **

**A flare of annoyance quickly followed but a hint of stifled rage caused Ziva to lash out at him when she answered, "Her father sends her on a mission to Somalia to be tortured and killed and she realizes she no longer has the stomach for the assassin lifestyle."**

**Tony leaned back from her and narrowed his eyes. **

"**Tell me what happened, Ziva."**

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**TBC**

**A/N: For anyone interested in the music, the piece in this chapter is Schubert Mass in G - Benedictus. I actually put a lot of thought into what part Ziva would sing. I sort of pegged Ziva as an alto, but there is no alto solo in the Mass in G. I picked the Benedictus soprano solo because it is much lower in range than the Agnus Dei soprano solo in the last movement and therefore it seemed believable to me that she could sing as the soprano soloist. Of course, no one else may care about that detail but me! **

**Reviews are very much appreciated. Thank you for reading!**


	4. The Other Night

A/N: Sorry for the delay. Life and work sometimes get in the way of fanfic, not to mention almost getting my JAW BROKEN by my HORSE. Little bastard. SO I have had a slight head/face ache for the last several days which seems to put a damper on my creativity. So on with the show. Thanks you for all of the support!

Warning: adult activity ahead and spoilers for episodes involving our ninja chick's little jaunt to Somalia.

Not mine, but I wish they were.

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She knows it wasn't his fault. She knows that he is just trying to help her. What she does not know is why she feels so angry at him for asking.

"I am fine, Tony. I have moved on. There is nothing to discuss."

"Nothing to discuss? Ziva, there is _everything _to discuss."

"What do you want to know, Tony? What happened in Somalia? What they did to me?" She snaps at him. "Do you want to know how fragile the human body actually is, Tony?"

For a moment, he thinks that maybe he _doesn't_ want to know. Maybe he should just leave it alone. A tingle of dread snakes through him as he takes a risk and pushes her further.

"I want to hear your story. I want to hear that you are human. I want to know that Ziva still lives inside of you, even if she is different, because I miss her." What he doesn't say is that he wants to know what he needs to do to make her feel completely comfortable in his presence again.

A dangerous feeling is beginning to percolate beneath what has been a stoic if not serene demeanor since her return from Africa. One foot in front of the other. One day at a time. It is all true, she knows that. Such a cliché, but in her experience, clichés tend to carry a kernel of truth. She risks a quick glance at Tony's face, expecting to see hurt or regret and is surprised to see a bit anger mirroring her own.

Tony holds her stare with one of his own. They have been dancing this dance for months. For all that she is the warrior, he is the interrogator. Seeing a fork in the path ahead, he pursues angry Ziva rather than hurt Ziva as he has attempted so many times in the past. The path not taken. Ziva breaks the eye contact first.

She is drunk and welcomes the freedom of speech this fact allows. Another cliché, but she doesn't care. She curses to herself as her eyes gloss over with a hint of unshed tears. She swallows past the golf ball sized lump in her throat and throws a cheap shot in his direction because if he shows her any kindness, it is possible she may start sobbing right there in the pub.

"Does it turn you on to hear the details, Tony?"

She stands up and pushes back from the table with enough force to almost knock the damn thing over. Grabbing her coat with one hand , she reaches for the last full shot glass with the other, downs the amber liquid and then slams the glass back on the table.

Ziva makes it out the door at record breaking speed, especially considering her lack of sobriety. Unfortunately, Tony must settle the bill and when he finally does step out into the night, Ziva is long gone. He is angry for all of the wrong reasons. He should be angry at the circumstances that brought them to this. He could be angry at Eli David. He would be angry with Saleem. Shoulda, coulda, woulda. He is angry with Ziva.

He assumes that she has gone home, so he walks the few blocks to her apartment. He is only mildly surprised when he finds her apartment deserted. He does not worry because even though she now doubts her ability to protect herself, he does not.

Tony is even less surprised to find her sitting on his couch when he finds his way home. Not a single light is on in the apartment, but the orange hue from the streetlights outside casts a glow across her face. A minute turns into two as he stands in his doorway, daring her to break the silence. Finally, she holds her hands out, palms up, in a gesture of surrender and whispers, "I am sorry, Tony."

He sighs, shuts the door and locks it before turning back to face her. A quick swipe at the light switch and Ziva is squinting warily into the bright light. Grabbing a chair from the kitchen table, he drags it over to the couch and plants it backwards mere inches from Ziva's knees. Tony straddles the chair and rest his arms along the back. He pins her with his best Special Agent DiNozzo stare and once again, she loses the staring contest.

"Tony, I-"

"Stop," he cuts her off with a wave of his hand. "It's my turn."

He's tired. So tired of the dance.

"Let me tell you what I know, Ziva. I know that you were on the Damecles. I know that you made it to land after it sunk. I know that your father ordered you on a suicide mission. I know that you spent months in a prison camp in Somalia. And I know that you sustained considerable injury while you were there."

She continues to avoid his gaze. He pauses for a moment and when he continues, his voice is kinder, softer.

"What I don't know, Ziva, is what happened the other night."

She swallows audibly and her breathing quickens. Squeezing her eyes shut, her mind cues up the unwanted images and replays them without her consent.

It seemed like a lifetime ago, but in reality only a few days had passed since she had arrived at his apartment uninvited but certainly not unwelcome. Tony had allowed her entrance and didn't question her motives. She had seen the concern on his face, yet had chosen to ignore it. Forcing her way into his space, they made it as far as the couch before she kissed him. He had kissed her back, tentatively at first then with growing need as she matched him, move for move.

She had been frantic, and while Tony's gut had sent alarm bells to his brain, he was only human after all. He had followed her lead, somehow convincing himself that as long as he relinquished his control and let her have the power, everything would be all right. She had put on a good show, and his gut had silenced the alarms.

Her mouth had remained fastened to his as she unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it off of his shoulders. She tore at his belt, unzipped his pants and pulled him free with her hand. She broke loose from his kiss just long enough to rip off her clothes then settled herself on top of him.

Tony had imagined that moment a million times in his head since their return from Somalia. He had imagined a nice dinner, a little too much wine, a little seduction. Because even though he had a reputation to uphold as the office playboy, and even though they had already slept with each other, this was Ziva. Because she had suffered, they had suffered' and suddenly he wanted it to be different. He wanted it to mean something more than friends turning to each other in mutual need or comfort.

He had followed her lead and ignored his gut because somewhere in the back of his mind, he had simply trusted that Ziva was capable of deciding what was in her own best interest. She was an ex-Mossad assassin and she knew what she was doing. Or so he thought.

Running her hands over his chest, she had leaned forward and resumed kissing him. His mouth, his neck, his chest. His mind ceased to work as she stroked the length of him until he was hard and hot in her hands. She straddled him and slowly attempted to ease him inside of her body. She froze and Tony was jarred from his lust soaked haze. Something was wrong. Ziva had her lip between her teeth and her eyes squeezed shut as though she were in pain.

"Wait-" he had said to her. She was impaling herself on him. "Ziva! Stop! You aren't ready." She opened her eyes and looked at him as though she couldn't comprehend what he was trying to say to her. He clamped his hands around her shoulders to still her movement, then reached between their joined bodies to confirm his suspicions.

"Ziva, you aren't ready," he said more forcefully. She had opened her eyes but looked right through him as reality settled over the two of them. Tony fought the urge to shake her, jar her back to the present. When she did finally meet his gaze, he saw a sadness so profound it took his breath away. He remained completely still as to not startle her, despite the fact that they still remained semi-joined by his softening erection.

He didn't know how many minutes had passed before Ziva finally pushed herself off of him and bolted for the bathroom. A moment later, the sound of the shower running had filled the apartment. Tony was too stunned to move. As a moment turned into twenty, Tony had finally eased himself off of the couch , dragged himself to his room, pulled on some sweats and began the process of extracting a once deadly Mossad officer from his bathroom.

"Ziva!" he called to her, but he got no answer. Instead of wasting time trying to coax her out of the bathroom, he simply picked the lock and let himself in. The shower was still running and steam swirled around him as her drew back the shower curtain. Ziva sat in the shower with her knees tucked against her chest and her arms wrapped around her legs as scalding hot water rained down on her head and back. Tony reached in and shut off the water as she turned her face up to him and he took in her eyes, red rimmed and swollen.

"Oh Ziva," He whispered to her. He had wrapped her still too-thin body in a towel. He had noticed the scars criss-crossing her back, some even snaking around to her stomach and chest, but he wisely chose to postpone his questioning for a later date and carried her to his bed where he tucked her under the covers then used his own body to sooth and protect her. The shakes came and her teeth had chattered. And no amount of body heat shed by her bed mate could warm the cold that had settled into her bones.

He hadn't asked her any questions that night, and while she was grateful for the reprieve, she knew eventually they would have a conversation like the one about to begin in Tony's living room.

TBC


	5. Truths Untold

**Thanks for all of your support! It's very motivating.**

**Warning: Adult angstyness ahead. **

**Spoilers for Season 7 **

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_"What I don't know, Ziva, is what happened the other night."_

She's not sober, but she's not entirely drunk, either. She is two people. One that can kill with blinding speed and one that is now scared of the monsters in the dark. And while she refuses to sleep with the lights on, she also can not sleep in the pitch dark. Her eyes drift closed as the remnants of the alcohol coursing through her body causes her head to swim slightly.

She begins speaking before she opens her eyes. She tells him the same story she had told to Gibbs in the interrogation room, only this time she fills in the gaps left untold to Gibbs.

"I once told you that I would not allow myself to ever be captured alive," she gives a little bitter laugh. "It's a funny thing Tony, the human will to survive. It's hardwired within us, it fights to survive even when the human mind does not wish it."

She gives him detail after detail of thirst, pain and starvation. She speaks of their questions and of their responses when they disliked her answers. She tells of how they had stripped her of her clothes, tied her to the ceiling and beat her with what she assumes must have been some sort of whip. She replays for him the days she spent tied to a chair and of how Saleem had hit her face so hard that she swallowed blood for hours, only to be violently ill afterward from ingesting so much of the coppery liquid.

This is the one time she ever plans on telling the entire story, and so she leaves nothing out. And while he had already realized that they had violated her more deeply than just beating her, he still visibly winces when the words tumble from her mouth.

She had known from the moment of her capture, what was in store. She had known that they would hurt her. She had known that she would talk, because eventually, everyone does. Fortunately, or maybe it was unfortunate, she did not actually have the information they were seeking. She had probably survived because she was the daughter of Eli David, and thus she had some bargaining value. It certainly didn't hurt her chances that she was a woman. Women had their uses in a camp full of men.

"It is what it is, Tony," she says softly. He nods, not because he agrees, but because this is not about him. He nods because if he unleashes his anger, he knows she may not confide in him further.

She finishes her story and he mumbles something about the two of them getting some rest. His right leg has long since fallen asleep and he feels the sting of needles as blood flow is once more restored to his foot when he rises from the chair. Holding his hand out to her, he gently tugs her to her feet and leads her to his bedroom. For the first time in his life, he truly understands what it means to be willing to suffer in the place of a loved one.

"I suppose I owe you an explanation for the other night. I just-" She stops as he shakes his head.

"I get it, Ziva." He lets her off the hook.

Rummaging through his dresser in search of something to suffice as pajamas for Ziva, Tony grabs a t-shirt and a pair of boxers.

"Will this work-" the words get lodged in his throat as he turns toward Ziva. Her back to him, she has shed her shirt and bra and is unbuttoning her pants. A few months ago, Ziva's lack of modesty would have amused Tony, or at the very least prompted a bit of fantasy. A few months ago, he would have teased her about the cultural differences between American and Israeli women. A few months ago, he would have said something dirty and she would have responded with an equally dirty response.

A few months ago, Ziva's back was not covered in scars.

Silently, he closes the distance between them, accidentally startling her as his fingers whisper across her back. She freezes, then drops her head and sighs. She allows him his exploration stoically. He stares at her back in disbelief. He had seen her scars when he pulled her from the shower, but he had been so focused on keeping her from going into some sort of shock that he hadn't fully registered what he was seeing. Tracing her back, his fingers now examine every detail, every inch.

She stands incredibly still, barely breathing, as Tony absorbs the evidence of the story she has just told. Gently he turns her to face him. She closes her eyes, but permits his continued inspection. Sitting on the edge of his bed, he pulls her toward him. While her back has suffered the majority of the abuse, Tony finds a long thin scar winding around her side, along her ribs and finally ending between her breasts.

His hands shake slightly as he gently slides the already unbuttoned pants off of her hips. The scars continue down her side to her thighs, more faint, but no less real. She stands before him, naked except for her underwear and it occurs to Tony that this moment in time is a testament of her trust in him. Warms hands rest on her hips for long moment as if he can take away her suffering simply by willing it so.

Eventually, he stands and helps her into the pair of boxers and she consents to this kindness simply because it seems as if it has been decades since anyone has showed her this much genuine tenderness. When he attempts to help her into the t-shirt, she declines the offer, opting to remain naked from the waist up. He raises his brow in confusion as she grabs the hem of his shirt and pulls it over his head.

"I just want to feel your skin on mine, Tony," she says softly and he understands, not only the words she speaks out loud, but also the words she omits. She's not ready to be completely naked, but she's not so damaged that she does not crave basic human comfort. He nods and does not question.

Once again, he tucks her into his bed and wraps his body around hers. Her breathing deepens and the tension in her muscles begin to abate and he thinks she is slipping into sleep when she suddenly rolls in his protective embrace and wraps her own arms tightly around him. Her face is pressed securely against his throat, her chest tight against his, and a shiver ripples through her frame. The tears fall silently, but she does not sob, does not make a sound except for the occasional ragged breath and stifled whimper. He holds her tighter, but keeps quiet because in the back of his mind he fears that if he speaks, she will bolt. And so he keeps vigil, long after her shaking has ceased, her breathing has slowed and slumber has found her.

TBC.

A/N: Ok, I know that was heavy, and it was super difficult to write. I promise the next chapter (mostly likely the final chapter) is much more uplifting. Thanks for reading. Reviews welcomed and appreciated!


	6. And That Was That

So sorry for the delay!! I had to rewrite this chapter multiple times to get it right and I'm still not sure how I feel about it! Thank you all for reading, I hope you enjoy! Adult stuff ahead…don't continue if you don't like that sort of thing. I don't own them and I'm not making any money.

* * *

She awakes with a start, her breath coming out in short little gasps. Squeezing her eyes shut, she forces her breathing to slow as she banishes the unwanted images from her sleep filled mind. She can feel Tony's breath against the back of her neck.

"Ziva?" A sleepy voice whispers in her ear. The familiar lump reappears in her throat. She considers for a moment feigning sleep if it means avoiding difficult questions.

She rolls on to her back and meets his eye. He looks at her, his head propped up on his elbow. She waits. He does not ask her questions, but kisses her cheek, her forehead, the tip of her nose, and then finally he places the lightest of kisses at the corner of her mouth and whispers, "It's going to be okay. It doesn't feel like it, but it will be okay. One day."

She closes her eyes and a few tears seep from beneath her closed lids. He gathers her close and holds her once more. A few more hours pass before the sky begins to lighten and Ziva slips silently from his bed and slides her limbs into her clothing. Tony wakes from the movement, but pretends otherwise. Ziva assumes he is awake, but allows his pretense. It is just easier that way.

*********

"How many languages do you speak anyway?"

"Including the language of love? Ten." She smiles. He looks surprised. Not by what she says, but by the fact that she said something so Ziva-like. It feels normal.

Later, Gibbs catches Tony staring after Ziva as she walks to the elevator.

"She can still kill you in your sleep, DiNozzo."

"But she won't, Boss," Tony responds without thinking and Gibbs has an answer to a question he did not actually ask.

"I do not want to know about it, DiNozzo. I mean it."

And that was that.

***********

Tony spends Christmas Eve at Ziva's new apartment. They watch A Christmas Story, eat cookies and share a little too much wine. When the movie is over, he hands her a key to his apartment.

"Look Ziva, I don't want this to be weird. Just use it whenever you need to." He smiles at her. "I don't know how many more times the lock can be picked before my key stops working."

She smiles back. They sleep in each other's arms once more. Ziva still chooses to sleep with pajama bottoms and Tony chooses to do so as well until she tells him it is alright to do otherwise.

**********

February brings more cold and snowy weather. Ziva stays with Tony more often than not. She makes good use of the key . Sometimes she comes home with him at night and sometimes she arrives well past what would be considered good manners. Tony doesn't mind and he doesn't ask questions. He simply opens his arms and welcomes the one person that could truly kill him with a paper clip.

They still sleep clothed from the waist down, but tonight Ziva kisses him with more enthusiasm. Rolling so that she is straddling him, she freezes for an instant. Despite her pajamas and his sweats, she can feel the hardness between her legs. She looks at him and thinks to herself that this must be unconditional love. And while she is not ready to resume their sexual relationship, she does kiss him and she does not flinch as he explores and relearns her body in return.

*********

One Saturday morning in March, Tony stops Ziva as she is attempting to sneak out of his room undetected.

"What is on the sight seeing itinerary for today, my little Probie tourist?"

She smiles and tells him that she has choir practice a 0900 but that she should be done by 1100. Then she plans on visiting the Art Gallery. He surprises her by agreeing to go to the Art Gallery under one condition: they visit his favorite museum afterward, the International Spy Museum. It is right around the corner.

She laughs, but agrees. He jumps out of bed and rummages through his closet until he finds a bulky tissue paper wrapped present. She rips into it and finds a charcoal gray hooded sweatshirt with the words PROPERTY OF THE SMITHSONIAN stamped across the front.

"I'm sorry, Ziva, but if you are going to play tourist, you must look the part." He means to be funny, but her throat tightens at his words. She _has_ been a tourist these last few months, absorbing every historical monument, every museum. She feels very lucky as she slips his gift over her head. She hugs him then leans up and kisses him on the cheek in gratitude. He thinks to himself that the feeling brought on by her happiness must be unconditional love.

***********

The cold stone of the World War II Memorial glows orange in the night time from the lighting around the structure. They stroll past each of the pillars, reading the names of each state. While Ziva has been to each monument more than once since her resolution to visit them all, each visit feels different than the last. Tonight the air smells sweet from the bloom of flowers.

They never talk of the future. Having no wish to disrupt their partnership at work, they live in the present. There was a time when Ziva secretly longed to have a husband and a family, but those days were over long before her imprisonment in Somalia. For the first time Tony wants something more and finds this new relationship with Ziva strangely comfortable. They keep their relationship private.

They walk several miles that night through the National Mall, around the Smithsonian buildings and up to the Capitol. Finally, they stumble through the door to Ziva's apartment. Undressing in the dark, Tony glimpses the white scars on Ziva's back in the moonlight shining through her window. An ever present reminder to him that life is fragile.

She climbs into bed, naked except for a pair of boxers and waits for him to do the same. Only this time, she motions for him to leave the sweat pants on the floor. He slides naked into bed beside her and she wraps her arms around him, pressing her naked breasts against his chest. He follows her lead. Running her hands down is chest, she drags her fingernails lightly across his stomach and laughs against his mouth as she feels his muscles tighten beneath her fingers.

He is hard against her thigh and she takes him in her hand. They mess around like teenagers. Tony is not left unsatisfied and Ziva falls asleep with Tony's hand resting on her breast and her boxers still protectively in place.

*************

It's the Fourth of July and the weather is beautiful. Ziva's choir is performing at the Naval Memorial. They sing a collection of American songs. Gibbs has given his team the day off. Ziva has come out of the closet to her co-workers about her choir membership and they come to see her perform. The concert is beautiful and afterward they gather on the Mall and eat ice cream. The day is happy and yet the nostalgia and cheer enveloping everyone in the District brings a physical pang of sadness to Ziva's gut. For a moment she misses home. Tony links his pinky finger through hers and squeezes for the briefest minute then lets go in an effort to remain discreet. Gibbs pretends that he didn't see Tony's gesture. Abby meets Ziva's eye with a knowing smile and then wraps her arm around Gibbs to distract him.

They end the day as a team watching fireworks. It's been a wonderful day.

That night, Ziva finally retires the boxers. She crawls naked into Tony's embrace and instantly falls into sleep cradled by arms that make no demands.

***********

Summer turns into fall. The air begins to carry with it a chill. A tough day at the office, long hours and a lack of coffee has tempers flaring. Ziva snaps at Tony. Tony snaps back. They leave the office separately.

Sometime around midnight, a once deadly Mossad assassin finds herself unable to sleep without the protective embrace of her partner. A mere twenty minutes later and she finds resolution to her problem. As usual, Tony does not ask questions. Pushing the covers aside, he rolls out of bed and stands naked before her. His eyes search hers for permission and she nods slightly.

He pulls her shirt from her body then unclasps her bra. His fingers glide and tease on flesh that bears the scars of what feels like another lifetime. His hands move to the button at her waist and he gently slides her pants off of her hips and lets the fabric pool on the floor. Her breath is coming in little pants.

His hands explore her body as his mouth kisses her hello. Stumbling backward, he pulls her with him onto the bed. He thinks to take it slow, but Ziva rolls herself on top of him. This time she does not cringe when she feels his erection through the thin satin of her underwear.

A touch, a kiss, a stroke. They tangle themselves in the sheets and finally stop for a moment, panting.

"I want to feel you inside of me, Tony," Ziva whispers into his ear.

He moves slow, achingly slow. Slipping his fingers under the waistband of her underwear, he slides the garment down her legs and tosses it to the floor. Placing a finger under her jaw, Tony forces Ziva to meet his gaze before he proceeds. He watches her every response and holds her eye with his own.

He continues to tease her and when he finally does press against the opening of her body, she welcomes the intrusion. She cups his face with her hands and they do not break eye contact as he moves incredibly slowly within her body. Finally, he gathers her body tight against his as she finds release and he follows shortly thereafter.

His body is heavy on top of her own, but she does not wish him to move. Still joined, she strokes his back and her eyes fill with tears. She is not sad, but feels overwhelmed by the emotion anyway. Tangling her fingers into his hair, she whispers into his ear, "I love you, Tony."

He lifts his head and kisses her before he tell her that he loves her, too.

And that was that.

***********


End file.
